


and if cupid's got a gun

by blackwood (transjon)



Series: kinktober 2020 [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dirty Talk, Finger Sucking, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Prostate Milking, Small Penis, Subspace, Trans Martin Blackwood, amab jonathan sims, dom tim stoker, mentions of stomach bulges/fisting, penis size humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:34:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26822995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transjon/pseuds/blackwood
Summary: Jon’s hair is soft and silky curled around Tim’s fingers.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Series: kinktober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956433
Comments: 30
Kudos: 244





	and if cupid's got a gun

**Author's Note:**

> title is from until we bleed by lykke li! 
> 
> martins junk isnt described w/ any specific words but hes trans and thats referenced here in the context of jon-centric cock size humiliation kink 
> 
> technically for kinktober but there is no prompt this is specifically for bc this targets an audience of perhaps three people
> 
> this is the most self indulgent thing ive written in my life GOODBYE

Jon’s hair is silky and shiny curled around Tim’s fingers. He cards them through it slowly, gently, blunt fingernails scraping over the sensitive skin, little scratches accenting the pets. 

“Does that feel good?” he asks quietly. 

Jon makes a sobbing noise. He shakes his head, then nods it where he’s got it in Tim’s lap. Tim watches Martin hollow his cheeks further where he’s lying on his front between Jon’s legs. There’s drool dripping down his chin. 

“Use your words, beautiful,” Tim says gently. 

“Yes,” Jon stutters out. It’s barely comprehensible, and Martin, reinvigorated by the stutter and strain in his voice, moves up on the bed with his hands on Jon’s bony hips, holding him down against the bed. He tries to suck Jon further into his mouth, but it’s no use. His entire length is already in Martin’s mouth to the root. 

Jon makes a broken, hurt noise. Makes sense. It’s been a while, now, of Martin’s mouth around him, the suction of his mouth, the overwhelming presence of it. Tim doubts Jon’s capable of coming again, or if he is it’s going to be dry, probably more painful than enjoyable. 

Tim takes his hand away from Jon’s hair. Jon sighs mournfully at the loss of contact, and then sighs happily when Tim’s fingers start tracing gentle lines on his face instead, eyebrow to eyebrow, and then corner of his mouth to the other. 

“Would you like to fuck him, Jon?” Tim asks softly. 

“Yes,” Jon whimpers. The tip of Tim’s finger threatens to slip into his mouth, between those slick, parted lips. “Please.”

“Don’t know if you could,” Tim says. He traces his index finger over the seam of Jon’s lips. Jon parts them, and Tim sticks it into his mouth, presses down on his tongue gently. Not enough to make him gag. Just enough that he can’t speak. “Think it’d be easier for Martin to fuck _you,_ lovely.”

Martin makes a strangled, choking sound around Jon’s cock at the words, and Jon keens, high and halfway into a sob in response to the sensation. Probably the words, too, knowing him. 

“Would you like that, Martin?” Tim asks. His middle finger joins his index finger, hooks itself behind Jon’s teeth. Jon closes his mouth around them carefully. He probably wants them behind his molars, instead of his front teeth. As long as he doesn’t bite down on them it doesn’t matter to Tim where they are, and he’s quite happy with having them where they are at the moment. 

“Yes,” Martin mumbles around Jon’s cock. 

“You think you could fuck him?” 

Martin manages to be careful as he nods eagerly. Tim taps his nails against Jon’s teeth just to feel him clench his jaw. “Y’know, considering he manages to do the same with the pathetic thing he calls a cock I think you’re right.”

Jon makes a noise, then, desperate and choked up. Tim can feel the vibrations in the bones of his fingers. “You know it’s true, lovely,” Tim says. “But that’s alright. We don’t hold it against you. Right, Martin?”

Martin responds by pulling his mouth away with a wet pop, enough for Jon’s mostly soft, spit-wet cock to fall out, and then diving back in. The entire length of it disappears in the fraction of a second. Jon’s hips jerk, unsure of where to go. 

“Should Martin use his fingers?” 

Jon squeezes his eyes shut but he nods anyway. Tim presses down on his tongue with both fingers, a little hard, a little forceful. “Do you want him to make you come again?”

He’s not sure there’s anything left in him. Worth it to see if there is, though.

Jon nods feverishly. There’s tears rolling down his cheeks. He swallows around Tim’s fingers to keep the spit gathering in his mouth from dripping out of his mouth, and then grimaces when Tim’s fingers press against the roof of his mouth with the motion of his mouth working, the tips of them digging into his soft palate. 

Martin, eager as always, slides two fingers into Jon’s stretched open hole. He should probably add lube, Tim thinks absently, since it’s been a while since they left his arse alone, but before he can tell Martin to do that he’s sliding his fingers out and through the spit-soaked mess underneath his mouth, where all the spit that’s dripped out of his mouth has formed a little pool. 

It’ll dry, but it’s enough for now. Tim smiles at him, and Martin, eyes partially glazed over and completely dark, makes a face that would probably be a smile if his mouth wasn’t full of cock. Martin’s fingers go in. A shudder goes through Jon. 

“Good,” Tim mumbles. He taps on Jon’s jaw with his free hand. Jon opens his mouth obediently, and Tim slides his fingers out, traces a wet line from the corner of his mouth to his jaw. Jon’s face scrunches in displeasure. 

“How are you feeling?” Tim asks. 

“Hngh,” Jon says eloquently. Tim gives his cheek a little pat. His mouth falls open at the contact, like his jaw has gotten much too heavy, the tip of his pink tongue peeking out temptingly. 

Martin chooses that moment to hook his fingers inside of Jon. The pads of them tap against his prostate, and Jon shudders, a full body thing, thighs and abs and arms tensing. 

“Pull off,” Tim tells him. “I want to see.”

Martin looks reluctant, but he does pull his mouth away. “Should I move?” he asks. 

“Do you need to?” Tim asks. He thinks about moving them, briefly, to have Jon on his side, head securely tucked in Tim’s lap, Martin against his back, fingers working inside of him, other hand holding his cock gently. 

“No,” Martin says. He finds Jon’s prostate again and presses up against it. 

Jon doesn’t – he doesn’t quite scream, but he does make a sound that sounds like he really tried to.

“Hoarse?” Tim asks pleasantly. “Throat feeling sore?”

“Mm,” Jon agrees. Tim offers him his fingers again, and Jon sucks them into his mouth gratefully, like he’s been starving without them inside of him. Like he needs to be filled from both ends to be happy. 

“Why don’t you suck on them?” he suggests. “Just like Martin did for you.”

Jon gives his fingers a few eager sucks, cheeks hollowing, struggling to find a rhythm that allows him to keep breathing. 

“Perfectly equal exchange, really,” Tim murmurs. “Do you think my fingers are the same size as your cock?”

“Mm,” Jon hums around the fingers. Tim takes the fingers away, and Jon whines. He lays his hand down on Jon’s cheek, palm down. 

“Do you think they are?”

“Bigger,” he mumbles, and then his face goes hot under Tim’s hand. “Your fingers are bigger.”

“Mm,” Tim agrees, “I think you’re right. I think,” he taps on Jon’s lips again to make him open his mouth, slides his fingers back into his eager mouth, “that it’s so small that you’re working harder to suck on my fingers than Martin worked on sucking your cock.”

Jon closes his eyes. Between his legs his spent cock twitches. A single bead of watery liquid dribbles out. Jon tries to make a high keening noise but it’s stopped in his throat by Tim’s fingers, comes out as a quiet gurgle instead. 

“Martin?” 

“Mm?”

Tim smiles down at him. He can feel spit starting to drip from Jon’s mouth down his hand to Jon’s chin, his neck. “Don’t tease him.”

“I’m not,” Martin says, voice like bells. Jon, as if to confirm Martin’s claim, goes tense and straight as a rod, legs spreading open and then struggling to close around Martin’s hand. He makes a guttural sound deep in his chest. Martin, without much reaction, pushes his legs open again. Tim can see his wrist flexing, the muscles of his arm working. 

“I think you still have one in you,” Tim murmurs. He brushes a few curls away from Jon’s face gently, traces over the shape of his eyebrow. “Just let go.”

Jon shakes his head. There are tears streaming down his face, but it’s hard to say if they’re from the overstimulation or from Tim’s fingers tickling the back of his throat. 

“Martin has been so nice to you, hasn’t he?”

Jon closes his eyes and nods. His throat tightens around Tim’s fingers. 

“And after everything you’ve done to him. You can’t even get that tiny thing inside of him to fuck him to thank him. You can do this, at least. Alright, sweetheart?”

Tim watches his cock try valiantly to get hard again, twitch and fill just the tiniest bit. It’s so _small_ , he thinks, affection and love blooming in his chest. “Christ,” he mumbles, “look at you.”

Jon opens his eyes obediently, looks down at himself. Martin, between his legs, looks at him as well. They make brief eye contact, and then Martin leans forward to take Jon’s cock into his mouth again. 

Jon _wails_ , Tim’s fingers in his mouth and all, hips twisting, but all Martin does is move his hand a bit. Tim _knows_ he presses his fingers against his prostate firmer, harder, and then he pulls his mouth off of him with a smug smile. 

“Oh, baby,” Tim says softly. “Just let go.”

Jon whines quietly. From experience Tim knows that to be this out of it, this quiet, this unable to string together a witty sentence he must be _far gone_. All the way outside of himself. 

“Come on,” he says. He traces a finger over the corners of Jon’s eyes, and when he closes them obediently over the thin skin of his eyelids. “Your pretty little cock is already dripping. Don’t fight it.”

It’s true. His cock, red and wet and sensitive, is leaking gently, the head peeking out from underneath the velvety foreskin. It’s almost entirely clear, just whatever little Martin can coax out of him, and every bead of fluid gathering at the red, sensitive tip of Jon’s cock makes Tim’s mouth water with desire. 

“Wish I could get it back in my mouth,” Martin mumbles. He doesn’t try to, but Jon’s hips jump in alarm anyway when he leans in closer to press a line of little kisses down the sweat-slick skin of his stomach, over his tense muscles. Tim wonders about having Martin work more of his fingers in. If he could get his fist into him, stretch him until he’s gaping, leaking lube and spit all over the towel under his hips. If he could see the shape of Martin’s hand through his stomach. 

Martin’s hand moves again. Tim can’t see what he’s doing, exactly, but Jon gasps sharply, his thighs shaking, cock twitching softly. 

“Come for me,” Martin says sweetly. Jon’s mouth falls open, and Tim thinks Martin must have found just the right spot, the right angle, maybe with both fingers just around it, just to the sides of it, because there’s a slow spurt of clear liquid that drips out of him in a steady stream, and Jon makes a sound like he’s been hurt, whole body tense and shaking tightly, as if he’s been tased. 

“Look at yourself,” Tim says gently. Jon struggles to open his eyes, breathing harshly, and Martin, between his legs, takes his cock into his hand – or, rather, between three of his fingers – and gives it a few firm, slow tugs. “Look how good Martin made your sweet little cock feel.”

“Mm,” Jon says, hips twisting, trying to get away. Martin leans in, presses a little kiss to the tip. Gives the slit a few tiny kitten licks. Jon moans. It’s a pained noise, pathetic and small. 

“Enough,” Tim says gently, and Martin pulls away slowly. “Why don’t you thank Martin?”

“Thank you,” Jon mumbles out. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Martin says, breathlessly. The lower half of his face is wet with spit. Tim wants to kiss him more than anything in the world. “Anything for you.”

“Come here,” Tim says. Jon’s head falls deeper into his lap, 

“Will you fuck me?” Martin asks sweetly, crawling up the bed. He puts one hand into Jon’s hair. The other one, wet with lube and spit, snakes its way between Tim’s legs underneath Jon’s head, careful to not touch Jon’s skin or hair. 

“Jesus, Martin,” Tim says. “Give him a few minutes to get himself together first.”

“Right,” Martin says, “right.” He takes his hand away. The other one slides from Jon’s hair to his cheek, over Tim’s, down Jon’s jaw. It settles over his throat, light and open. Jon presses into the touch, and then puts his own hand over it. 

“Good?” Martin asks softly. 

Jon hums, licks his lips, as if to remind himself how to move his tongue. “Feels – feels contained,” he rasps out. 

“Want me to lie on top of you?”

Jon shakes his head slowly. “Just stay there? Both of you.” 

“Of course,” Martin says immediately. “Of course.”

Tim smiles at the both of them. “Always,” he says. 

Jon closes his eyes. Martin lies down on the bed next to him, nose pressing against Jon’s shoulder, hand splayed over his throat. Tim puts the hand that’s still a little wet with Jon’s spit into Martin’s hair. Martin makes a contented noise, and then, when he realizes that the hand is wet, a disgusted one. 

“Shh,” Jon says insistently, blissfully unaware of what’s going on next to him. “Quiet time.”

Martin opens his mouth. Tim gives him a look. Martin closes his mouth.


End file.
